


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [8]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2701880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim spends Christmas Eve at Oswald's place. With Oswald's mother, who doesn't appear to be terribly fond of Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> So I may have accidentally lied. The work thing I was supposed to do this weekend was canceled and I could not stop writing yesterday, so early update! 
> 
> As always, thank you for the lovely comments and kudos!

Jim didn’t know anything about cufflinks. The only time when he had worn French cuffs was as a groomsman at a cousin’s wedding three years ago and the whole getup had been chosen for him by the wedding planner. But Christmas was a week away and he wanted to get Oswald something nice. Oswald had given him a birthday present, after all, and they were friends. Besides, Jim wanted to. After wearing Oswald’s scarf for two months, it felt wrong that he’d never given Oswald anything. He should have something from Jim. Like cufflinks. Oswald loved cufflinks. He preferred a pair of silver, onyx cufflinks that he inherited from his father, but he wore others as well, so Jim wouldn’t be infringing on a family heirloom. He just had one problem. How the hell did you go around picking them? 

The only person he knew with in depth knowledge of menswear was Oswald himself. And Nygma. It was an odd thing to ask, but he didn't want to give Oswald the wrong thing. 

Ed looked up from his workstation when Jim approached, a cheery smile on his face.

“Hello, detective,” he said, putting down the file he had been reading. “What can I help you with?”

“Hey, Ed. Um, listen. I need a favor. Not work related. What do you know about cufflinks?”

“What any man with a good sartorial sense knows.”

“Right. Well, I don’t really know much about them.”

“Oh!” Ed stood up, looking anxious. “I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t have good taste in clothes. Far from it. Your suits are always impeccable.”

“It’s okay, Ed,” Jim said, holding a hand up. “I didn’t hear it as a slight. I don’t really know much about suits apart from what I wear, which does not usually extend to cufflinks. But I’m looking for a gift for a friend, so I could really use some advice.”

“Oh. Which friend?”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to reveal his name to me. However, knowing his particular fashion sense would be immensely helpful. There are many types of cufflinks, which vary according to the suits they are matched with and the impression the wearer wishes to convey.”

“Right. Makes sense. Well, you may have seen him before. Were you here when Oswald Cobblepot showed up?”

“The man you didn’t kill for the mob? Yes, I got a good look at him. Classic style. Traditional. I would go with a chain link cufflink.”

“Chain link. Ok.”

“They are very traditional. You don’t want anything flashy. No novelty items. Also, you want to take into account where exactly he stands in the mob hierarchy. You don’t want to give him something that doesn’t mesh with his status.”

“Right. No gemstones, then.”

“Well, if he’s high up enough, he could—“

“Never mind that, Ed. I can’t afford gemstones.”

“Of course. I can’t, either. I’m more the plain metal type, anyway.”

One of those should be fine. Oswald wore those, too. 

“I think I have an idea of what to look for now, Ed,” Jim said, giving him a small, if beleaguered, smile. “Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

“Anytime, detective. I’m happy to help. If you want, I can go to the store with you.”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Jim said, starting to step away. “Thanks again.”

So. Chain link. Nothing flashy. That shouldn’t be too bad, right?

It was bad. Anything that the self-respecting right hand man to a mob boss might wear was making his bank account wince. This was like trying to buy Barbara jewelry.

No. Absolutely not. He would not make that comparison. 

Shaking that pernicious thought out of his head, he thanked the store attendant and set out for the third store on his list. This weren’t even the ultra high end stores. It was Christmas. You’d think someone would have cufflinks on sale. A decent sale. As much of a discount as $136.99 instead of $275.00 might be (if that had even been the original price), it was still too expensive. The third shop was a little better. $90. Some were only $80. Maybe he would get lucky at the fourth shop and find some $70 ones. 

His phone rang as he stepped back into the street. Oswald.

“Hey,” he answered. “How are you?”

“I’m very well. How about you?”

“I’m good. Christmas shopping.”

“What timing. I finished up only yesterday.”

“Yeah? What’d you get me?”

“Now, now, Jim. That would spoil the surprise.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll just have to wait on tenterhooks for the next week.”

“That you will. Speaking of Christmas, I was wondering. Do you have plans for Christmas Eve?”

Jim paused with his hand on the fourth store’s door. He stepped back to the curb, frowning.

“No. My family celebrates on Christmas Day. Are you inviting me over?”

“Yes. Of course, you are under no obligation to say yes. None at all. I was just thinking, if you didn’t have anything going on... It’s just me and my mom, so it’s nothing special.”

Oswald wanted him to meet his mother? Huh. Jim couldn’t say that he wasn’t curious about the woman who raised Oswald. And he’d be spending time with Oswald. On Christmas. The idea was not unappealing.

“I would be honored,” Jim said.

“That’s excellent. I’m so glad.”

“What should I bring?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that.”

“No, I feel like I should. It’s the first time I’m meeting your mom. I don’t want her to think I’m rude.”

“That’s nice of you. Alright, I’ll think of something and tell you before the day.”

“Thanks. And thank you for the invite. I appreciate it. I’ll talk to you later. I have to continue the shopping grind.”

And find you extra nice cufflinks.

“Good luck. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He had to find these cufflinks.

`````````  
“I’m still not sure about this.”

Oswald looked at his mom in exasperation, refusing to let her harsh his happy buzz. Having a woman over would have been impossible even if he was interested, but a man should fly under her possessive radar. As long as she wasn’t looking for certain cues, which Jim was frustratingly irregular about giving.

“Mom,” he said, slipping his cell phone back in his pocket. “You already said it was okay. Jim said yes. It’s too late. Besides, you’ve had your friend Mirella over for Christmas a few times. Why can’t I bring my friend?”

“I don’t like police in my house.”

Oswald rolled his eyes.

“He’s not like the other ones. He’s an honest, decent man. Probably the only cop in the city with a sense of honor. You’ll like him. Just give him a chance, mom, please. For me.”

His mom frowned, clearly still displeased, but she was relenting.

“Alright,” she said. “For you, darling.”

Oswald smiled at her.

“Thanks, mom. You’re going to love him, I promise.”

````````  
“How about these?” Jim asked Ed the next morning, holding out a small box that held a pair of silver cufflinks with mother of pearl and onyx diagonal stripes. They hadn’t been what he was looking for, but the sixth store he went to actually had a decent sale and they matched most of Oswald’s suits. 

“They’re perfect,” Ed said, peering at the cufflinks. “You have good taste, detective.”

“Thanks. So he will like them?”

“I’m sure he will.”

“That’s great. Thanks, Ed.”

Closing the box, Jim placed it securely in his inner, jacket pocket. This was finally done. Now what to get Oswald’s mom?

````````  
On Christmas Eve at 5:30pm, Jim stood outside Oswald's front door holding a bag filled with two wrapped presents and a box of apple strudel. Oswald had specifically said that his mom had a weakness for apple strudel from this little bakery in an old, German neighborhood, so Jim went and got a dozen. That wasn’t too many, right? Maybe he should have only gotten half. But what if bringing only six made him look cheap? No, a dozen was good.

Glancing up at the silver colored 9 on the door to verify that he was at the correct apartment, he knocked on the door. A few moments later, Oswald opened it, a bright smile on his face. The sight immediately reassured Jim. At least one person in this apartment approved of him, so it couldn’t be too bad. 

“Hi, Jim,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

Jim returned his smile.

“Merry Christmas, Oswald.”

Oswald wrapped him up in a celebratory hug. Jim’s nose dipped too close to Oswald’s neck, because the instant that he felt the clean smell of soap and a unique scent that could only be Oswald, he wanted to either back out of the building or press his lips to Oswald’s skin. 

“Mom,” Oswald called over his shoulder, prompting Jim to step back like a decent human being and do neither. 

“Come in,” Oswald told him before turning back toward a woman who Jim now saw standing in the living room. A very old fashioned living room. She appeared to match it with her choice of dress. She was wearing a cream colored dress that looked like it had been taken out of an early 20th century period movie. The fabric was light with lace around the neckline and at the ends of the elbow length sleeves. The apartment was much the same from what Jim could see. Not even the fridge was modern. Jim could see where Oswald got his traditional style from. She was regarding him with a critical gaze, her hands folded stiffly in front of her. Oswald had warned him that she could be a little prickly with new people. And that she didn’t like cops, though Oswald assured him that he had sung Jim’s praises to her, highlighting all the good he had done in the department. 

“Mom,” Oswald said, standing between them. “This is my friend Jim Gordon. Jim, this is my mom, Gertrud.”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Kapelput. How do you do?” Jim asked. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Oswald had warned him about the name, too. 

_”My mom doesn’t want to let go of the old ways_ ,” he had said. _”She hates that my father changed our name to make it sound more American.”_

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Gordon. I am very well, thank you,” she said, smiling politely, though Jim was sure it was forced because it didn’t reach her eyes. She was regarding him like she wished to dissect him to discover why exactly he was here with Oswald. With the way that Oswald had spoken about her, Jim got the impression that she was a little possessive of her son. Jim had the notion that if he were female, she would be eviscerating him right now. It was best that she didn’t know what was going through his mind. 

“My son speaks a lot about you,” she said. “You are policeman, yes?”

Oh, shit.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m a police detective.”

“Mom—“ Oswald said, but his mother cut him off.

“My son says you are not corrupt like the others.”

“No, ma’am. I’m one of the few honest ones. Sometimes, I think I’m the only one.”

“Hm. That is good.”

Jim wasn’t sure whether she believed him. He didn’t take it personally. When you came from a country where the police were tools for the government to attack their own citizenry, trusting a cop anywhere probably sounded stupid. Especially in a city like Gotham. Although he did not get the impression that she was so innocent herself. She was Oswald’s mother, after all, though she didn’t know that he was part of the mob. It was safer for her not to know, Oswald had said. He was right.

“I brought you something,” Jim said, pulling the box of strudels out of the bag, hoping that they hadn’t gotten squished. “Oswald mentioned that you like apple strudel.”

Her eyes lit up when she saw the box. Finally, Jim had done something right. Thank you, Oswald. 

“Are those from my bakery?” she asked, taking the box and quickly opening it. “They are. Oh, these are my favorite. Thank you.”

“I’m happy you like them,” Jim said, smiling tentatively. 

“See, mom?” Oswald said. “I told you he’s a good one.”

“I also brought presents,” Jim said, taking those out as well. 

“I’ll take those,” Oswald said. “I have yours under the tree already.”

As he went over to the tall tree in the corner, his mother turned back to Jim. She looked more satisfied this time, but her eyes were still assessing him. 

“This is very thoughtful of you,” she said. 

“I do try, Mrs. Kapelput. Your son’s friendship means a lot to me.”

“Likewise,” Oswald said, walking back to them. “Shall we sit down to eat?”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Kapelput said, turning to her son with a genuine smile before heading toward the kitchen. 

Jim exchanged a beleaguered look with Oswald, who leaned in close to whisper,

“You’re doing fine. Thanks for bringing the strudel.”

“Is she always like that?” Jim whispered back.

“She’s sizing you up. Ignore it.”

But it was a little hard to ignore. Throughout the entire dinner, she kept peering at him, asking pointed questions about his life and his friendship with her son. Always “my son”. That possessive felt very emphasized, as if she was afraid that Jim would steal him away. Jim and Oswald deflected as much as possible, Oswald trying to appeal to her sense of good manners without actually stating it out loud. Then Mrs. Kapelput went into proud and worried mama mode and delved into the embarrassing childhood details that everyone dreaded their parents revealing with company. Like that Oswald was the smartest boy in his class and he was always so well dressed and all the other kids in his school resented him so. Oswald cut her off before she could go much further, embarrassment tingeing his cheeks red. He avoided meeting Jim in the eye, which only made Jim wish that he could reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder, reassuring Oswald that he didn’t think any less of him for being the odd kid who got bullied. Jim had suspected that already. Jim would have fought the bullies off him for him. He had for others at his own school. Maybe Oswald might have turned out a little differently if their paths had crossed earlier in life. Or maybe not, he thought, catching that shrewd look in Mrs. Kapelput’s eye again. Some things came from nature as much as nurture. 

The presents came after dinner. Jim and Mrs. Kapelput relocated to the couch while Oswald went to get the presents from under the tree. Jim offered to help, but Oswald insisted that, as their guest, he should stay right where he was. Oswald piled the presents on the coffee table, not that there were many since there were only three recipients. At Jim’s aunt’s house tomorrow, it would be a mess of shrieking children, people getting someone else’s present because someone scribbled the name wrong, and the inevitable red sweater from his Aunt Millicent who for some reason thought that it was his favorite color. These five presents sitting on an antique table felt so quiet by comparison, yet the two he brought felt like little time bombs waiting for the opportune moment to explode in his face. Ed hadn’t been lying to him about the cufflinks, right? Maybe he was a magnificent liar and Jim just didn’t know it. 

“Here you go, mom,” Oswald said, handing her his own present before sitting between them on the couch. His leg brushed Jim’s as he sat down, sending a thrill up Jim’s spine. Jim held his breath. Oswald looked at their joined legs, glancing up at him for a second, mouth open in uncertain surprise before looking away quickly. Jim should shift a bit to the side to make more room for him on the couch, and he did start to move, but he only budged the tiniest bit before he realized that he really didn’t want to. And he knew that Oswald probably didn’t want him to, either. And he wished that it was just the two of them on the couch that so he could slide his hand over Oswald’s knee and…

“Oh, Oswald, it’s beautiful,” Mrs. Kapelput exclaimed, putting a firm halt on any thoughts about touching that Jim might have been about to imagine. Oh, shit. He was in the woman’s living room, for God’s sake, and he wanted to do… something, with her son. He was the worst houseguest ever. To finish stomping on his treacherous thoughts, he turned toward the pair. Oswald had given her a necklace. Diamonds, from the look of it, arranged in ornate flower shapes. _Purchased or stolen?_ Jim wondered, then stamped that thought away, too. It was a little late in the day for that. Besides, Oswald could certainly afford it. 

“Jim got you something, too,” Oswald said, turning to Jim before handing his present over. It would be a little awkward for Jim to give it to her directly with Oswald sitting between them.

“Oswald gave me some pointers,” Jim said, leaning forward to get a better look at her while Oswald sat back to give him room. “I really hope you like it.” 

She peeled off the wrapping paper and opened the box, gasping in wonder when she took the clock. Oh, thank God. That was a happy look. Jim had dished out more money than he liked to ensure that look. It was a wooden, rectangular clock with a white face and golden engravings around it. Not a real antique, that would have been too much for his budget, but it looked like it, so it would fit right in with the décor. 

“I love it, Mr. Gordon,” Mrs. Kapelput said, smiling. “You have such good taste, just like my Oswald. Thank you.”

Jim smiled, relieved.

“You’ve very welcome, ma’am.”

“I told you he’s a good one, mom,” Oswald said, looking pleased.

“That you did, darling.”

As she continued to inspect her clock, Oswald picked up the slim box with Jim’s name on it. Too thin for clothing unless it was something small, but Jim didn’t think it was.

“Merry Christmas, Jim,” Oswald said, smiling as he handed him the box.

Jim opened it and pulled out a framed picture. It was in black and white, and not for artistic reasons.

“The Rolling Stones,” Jim murmured, looking at what was clearly a high quality print of the band playing. It had probably been for a photo shoot given the way that they were standing around each other in a nondescript, concrete space, the picture awash in shadows and bright lights. Oswald had gone through his album collection once and commented on the various Rolling Stones albums he found, rightly inferring that they were one of Jim’s favorite bands. 

“Don’t you dare say it’s too much,” Oswald said, correctly guessing Jim’s next thought. Prints like these were not cheap. Not at all. Not that the cashmere scarf had been cheap, either, but this was another price point entirely. But Oswald wouldn’t be having it. Jim knew better. Besides, he couldn’t put up a fuss in front of his mother. In any case, the thought of giving this back… He really didn’t want to.

“This is amazing,” he said. “Thank you. This is one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten.”

Oswald’s smile widened, his whole face lighting up with happiness. Jim really wished that Oswald’s mom wasn’t here.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Oswald said.

“What’s that, dear?” Mrs. Kapelput asked, peering around Oswald.

Really wished she wasn’t here. Again, horrible houseguest. 

“It’s a picture of Jim’s favorite band,” Oswald said. 

“Oh,” she said. “That’s nice.”

She obviously didn’t think much of it despite the politeness of her tone. Of maybe it was just Jim she didn’t like. What expression had been on his face when he thanked Oswald? He had let his guard down. Had she noticed something? Shit, she probably did. Wild thoughts about her killing him and burying him in the wall, then comforting a mourning Oswald after he was never seen again started careening through his mind. 

Mentally shaking himself off, he reached for the last present on the table. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said, echoing Oswald from earlier, and squeezed the framed picture in his lap a little too tightly as he watched Oswald open the small box. 

Oswald stared at the contents, then slowly pulled out a cufflink and held it up. 

“These are wonderful,” he said, looking up at Jim in amazement. “Thank you. I’d put them on right now, but I have my dad’s on.”

“That’s alright,” Jim said. “I’m glad you like them. I was a little worried. I’ve never bought cufflinks before.”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at these. They are perfect.”

His mom was peering around him again, prompting Oswald to turn toward her to show her the cufflinks.

“Look, mom, Jim got me cufflinks.”

Jim mourned the loss of eye contact, but, almost immediately, Oswald turned back around to Jim, his love as clear in his face now as when he had first professed it to Jim.

_Beautiful,_ Jim thought. 

“You really do have good taste, Mr. Gordon,” Mrs. Kapelput said. 

_Yes, I do._

“Thank you, Mrs. Kapelput.”

When it came time to leave, after he had said his goodbyes to Oswald’s mom, he whispered low enough so only Oswald could hear,

“Walk me to my car.”

“Mom,” Oswald said over his shoulder. “I’m walking Jim to his car.”

“Alright, dear.”

Oswald followed him out, closing the door behind them. He peered curiously at Jim, but said nothing as Jim lead them down the stairs. They couldn’t remain in the corridor. Mrs. Kapelput might decide to spy on them through the peephole or open the door. As soon as they reached the first floor, Jim turned to Oswald, took his face in his hands, and kissed him. Kissed him like he had yearned to when the thought had first come to his mind, hard and strong and without thought as to what the hell he was doing, just wanting it, needing it, fuck the rationality that was telling him not to. It was late and it was Christmas and it was grossly unfair to Oswald to lead him on if Jim honestly thought that this might maybe be something. It might be nothing. It would probably blow up catastrophically, but, right now, Oswald’s mouth felt heavenly, his hands clutching Jim’s shoulder blades like they were anchors and he was afraid to be set adrift. His hair was soft between Jim’s fingers, as soft as the skin pulsing with a rapid heartbeat under his palms. 

Oswald groaned when Jim pulled away, prompting Jim to dive in for another kiss before lifting his head again.

“You kissed me,” Oswald murmured, gaping up at Jim in wonder, as if afraid that he wasn’t real.

“I did.”

“You…” A smile bloomed on his face, accompanied by a joyous laugh. “You kissed me.”

“I wanted to since you gave me the picture. Actually, I have been thinking about it for a while now, but with Barbara, it was so soon after leaving her and I didn’t expect that love declaration from you and it’s all been a bit muddled, but, fuck it, it’s Christmas. I really, really didn’t want to leave here tonight without kissing you.”

“That’s the greatest, most amazing thing anyone’s said to me.”

Stepping up on his toes, Oswald pulled him down for a kiss again.

“God, I wish my mom weren’t home,” he said against Jim’s lips.

“I’ve been wishing the same thing.”

“I would suggest your car, but…”

“Parked on the street. Pedestrians. Streetlights shining down. Bad idea.”

“Yeah.”

“I have to go to my aunt’s house tomorrow.”

“Fuck.”

“Day after that? My place?”

“Yes.”

“What time?” 

“As early as possible. I can be there before dawn if you want.”

Jim chuckled. 

“I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

“Please do.”

After another lengthy kiss, they reluctantly said good-bye. Oswald looked back at Jim so many times as he made his way up the stairs that Jim worried that he was going to trip on them. 

Two days. Well, one and a half, really. More than enough time to come to his senses, but fuck that. He always thought more clearly when he didn’t give a shit anymore. He might be crazy, but it felt damn good.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! It only took 28,000 words to get to a proper kiss. A little more than I expected.
> 
> In case you're wondering about the Rolling Stones photo that Oswald gave Jim, it's this one [here.](http://www.rockarchive.com/the-rolling-stones_photo_print_rs003fa.html)


End file.
